


My True Love Gave To Me

by flutterby_cupcake_26



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angels don't get it, Canon Related, Christmas, Gifts, M/M, Twelve Days Of Christmas, christmas gifts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 17:10:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 3,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8999548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flutterby_cupcake_26/pseuds/flutterby_cupcake_26
Summary: Dean Winchester wakes one morning to a tree growing in the bunker. A pear tree, with a bird nesting inside. This is the first day of several that are out of the ordinary ... even for a hunter. But maybe he should be flattered that someone is giving him 12 pear trees, 184 birds, 40 rings, 76 women ... and 64 musicians.





	1. A partridge in a pear tree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cliophilyra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cliophilyra/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of a Secret Santa fic exchange on a group my friend Lucie runs. I drew Lucie, and at first I was like, YAY, Lucie has really helped me out with betaing and she's great to talk to and we ship similar stuff and have the same approach to ships and fandoms, this is going to be great! And then this idea came to me and I was like, YES, I can do this! And then I got to eleven pipers piping and needed advice ... and couldn't ask Lucie like normal. And also had to be a little cagey when she asked about fic ideas and I probably made it super obvious that I drew her ...
> 
> Big thanks to my friend Laurie for her idea of the Pied Piper influence, and my friends Suze and Sarah-Jane (and Laurie) who helped me try to figure out how to make twelve drummers a good climax for twelve days of presents that in real life would be majorly inconvenient.
> 
> I hope you like it, Lucie! Merry Christmas :D

It was the thirteenth of December; a Friday, that year. A lesser man than Dean Winchester would have been suspicious, sure that bad luck would befall him at any point during the day. He would avoid black cats and ladders, and stepping on cracks. He would rub rabbits feet and find four-leaf clovers and surround himself with multiples of seven in order to balance the karma of the cosmos.

And perhaps, that man would have been more prepared for what befell Dean Winchester that day. When he walked into the kitchen for a cup of coffee that morning, he slammed into his much taller brother.

“Sammy?”

Sam stepped aside wordlessly, and Dean saw what he was staring at. There, in the middle of the kitchen, a tree had sprouted, covered in fruit. Covered in pears.

“If you look carefully,” Sam whispered. “You’ll see the bird hiding.”

“What?” Dean grouched.

“My guess is,” Sam deadpanned. “That thing’s a partridge.”

“What the hell is it doing in here?”

Sam couldn’t answer that one.


	2. Two Turtle Doves

The next morning, Dean was a little more wary as he strode into the kitchen for his morning coffee. Sam was admiring the second tree to sprout up in the kitchen, eating one of the pears and peering in the leaves.

“So get this,” he said around his mouthful of pear mush. “There’s two extra birds in this one.”

“Really.” Dean couldn’t care less.

“On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,” Sam sang tunelessly. “A partridge in a pear tree. On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree.”

“So you’re saying that they’re turtle doves?” Dean rolled his eyes.

“I’m saying, I wonder which one of us has a true love.” Sam bit down on his pear again.

“You don’t think this is Crowley or Rowena messing with us?” Dean pushed.

“You’re thinking Crowley is missing the good old days of Demon Dean?”

“I think Rowena’s trying to hit on you to get something out of you.”


	3. Three French Hens

No more trees appeared in the kitchen. But one appeared in the bathroom, where the turtle doves accompanying it took roost in the trees, and the partridge that materialised with this tree seemed to fight regularly with the three French hens.

“We’re already running out of room in the bunker,” Sam mused. “And on day three.”

“I slipped in bird shit trying to use the can.” Dean sulked. “What the hell, man? Is this happening everywhere or just with us?”

“Who knows?”

“Want chicken for lunch?” Dean eyed the birds on the floor.


	4. Four calling birds

Dean didn’t remember setting an alarm for the morning of the sixteenth December. Much less one that sounded like birdsong.

And then he heard his brother singing as he passed by Dean’s room.

“On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me; four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree.”

Dean didn’t know what was worse. Someone choosing to torture the both of them by taking this song too literally, or Sam singing along.

No, what was worse was the birdsong _in his room_. Birdsong and squawking. He sat up and hit his head on a low-lying branch.

“GODDAMMIT!”

Sam opened the door to his room and started laughing.

“You have a true love!”

“Shut up, Sammy.”

Sam carried on laughing as he walked away.


	5. Five golden rings

Dean didn’t sleep that night. He and Sam had taken all twenty birds that had materialised so far into a local bird sanctuary who seemed bewildered by the presence of so many birds. He had looked up all the lore he could for the gifts and Christmas and animal representations. He had tried to look for what kind of being could do this, could fixate on him so doggedly. But he was sure as hell going to see what was doing this, and then threaten them until they stopped.

He prowled the bunker, gun at the ready, blades in his pocket, looking around for something sprouting trees and bringing birds into the house. Eventually it got to morning, and he found Castiel just inside the front door, next to yet another tree surrounded by birds.

“Hey Cas,” he said in relief.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel greeted him back, walking down the steps. “Your bunker is not yet decorated for Christmas.”

“Sam and I don’t really celebrate. And some jackass keeps filling the place with trees and birds.”

Castiel looked thoughtfully up at the tree by the front door, surrounded by French hens, turtle doves, calling birds and a partridge. Dean snorted softly.

“Day five, where are these damn rings?”

“Oh, here,” Castiel reached into his pocket and pressed five golden rings into his hand, before drifting away into the bunker. Dean heard sniggering, and turned to see a flash of plaid disappearing into an open doorway.


	6. Six Geese-a-laying

“Enough with the damn birds!” Sam shouted. Dean was drinking coffee, playing with his ten rings. Five from yesterday, five from today. Sam walked into the kitchen. “Dean?”

“Six geese a-laying.” Dean affirmed. “Five golden rings,” he gestured to the table. “Four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves and a partridge in yet another frigging tree. At least in two days some chicks will start to appear. Maids a-milking, right?”

“Can you please talk to your boyfriend about this? Because I can’t keep taking birds to the sanctuary. And by day twelve, do you know how many birds there’s going to be in here? Christmas Day with one hundred and sixty-four birds!”

“And Christmas Day with seventy-six chicks.” Dean grinned.

“And sixty-four dudes.” Sam fought back. “All around twelve trees. Please talk to Cas.”


	7. Seven swans-a-swimming

The seventh tree sprouted in the bathroom again, to account for the swimming swans. They were vicious creatures who were territorial and yet seemed at best unimpressed with Dean’s attempts to move them. He stepped backwards as one of them flapped their wings and charged towards him, and slipped on a goose egg, which made one of the geese honk at him.

“Dean, seriously!” Sam called through the melee, as he tried to stop one of the calling birds from swallowing a ring and choking itself. “Call. Cas.”

Dean sighed, and finally caved in. He had suspected Castiel from the moment he handed the first set of rings over, and Sam had all but confirmed it. But they couldn’t carry on, Sam was right. The bunker wasn’t built for so many trees, birds, and people as were laid out in the song.

He could keep going with the gold rings though. That could be swapped for some beer.

“Castiel, breaker-breaker, one-two-one-two, come in, come in, do you read me?”

“You’re such a dork,” Sam muttered. But nevertheless, it had worked. Castiel appeared in front of them.

“Sam, Dean, is everything okay?” Castiel asked in a low voice.

“Uh, not really, Cas. Is this you? Do you keep making trees grow in the bunker, and-” Dean was cut off by another swan attack. Castiel moved the swan away from him effortlessly. “And that.” Dean finished breathlessly. Castiel looked around at Sam, and snapped his fingers. Sam disappeared.

“Um,”

“Sam’s in his room. I don’t understand Dean, do you not appreciate the gifts?”

“If you wanted to get me something, Cas, beer and car wax would be good.”

“You can get those for yourself. And the song dictates-“

“Cas, it’s a song. And I think it was like, one thing a day anyway.”

“But on the first day it was a partridge in a pear tree. On the twelfth day it was twelve drummers drumming, eleven pipers piping, ten-”

“Cas, for real, are you going to try and make a hundred and forty people fit in here? And twelve trees, and a crap load of birds?”

Castiel pressed his lips together, and Dean could see that he hadn’t worked out the logistics properly.

“Please, just … not the real life versions, okay? Can you get rid of these birds? Please?”

Castiel waved a hand, and the birds disappeared, as did the pear tree. The rings fell to the floor, spinning until they settled. In the silence, Dean and Castiel stared at each other.

“Um, there’s one line in the song,” Dean began, licking his lips slowly. Castiel looked at the rings.

“The rings? They’re not obtrusive, are they?”

“No. I mean … all these things are for me, right?”

Castiel smiled, and disappeared without any real confirmation.


	8. Eight maids-a-milking

Castiel had apparently gotten creative the next day. Heeding Dean’s advice to stop filling the bunker with livestock, instead there was a weird diorama in the kitchen, full of feathers, eggs, water, golden rings, dried pear and eight pints of milk.

“It’s quiet without all the birds.” Sam mused, and poured himself some cereal, with one of the pints of milk. “Want some omelette?” He gestured to the eggs.

“Cas has gone all out, hasn’t he?” Dean mused.

“Wonder how he’ll tackle the leaping guys.” Sam smirked. “Is your true love giving anything away?”

“I hate you,” Dean promised him. Sam merely picked up a couple of dried pear slices and scattered them on his bran flakes.


	9. Nine ladies dancing

The next morning there was nothing out of place in the bunker. Dean felt a little disappointed. Surely Castiel wouldn’t give up on day nine, even after their talk? He was beginning to look forward to what the angel might come up with to complete the song.

Sam had looked around the bunker with an expression that matched Dean’s feelings, like he was expecting something out of the ordinary. But there was nothing, so instead they got to work, looking for cases.

Around seven o’clock that night, Castiel materialised, and took Dean by the wrist.

“You need your ninth gift,” he said, without any preamble. And before Dean could protest, or Sam could mock them, they had materialised out of the bunker, and into a strip club.

“Cas?” Dean looked around the room in wonder, the scantily clad women on the stage and poles gyrating nearby. Castiel signalled for two drinks from a nearby waitress in hot pants and a cropped vest, and leaned closer.

“There are nine women working tonight.”

Dean wanted to be grateful. There were half-naked women, there was booze … but Castiel was trying to stick to the song. Wasn’t it weird that Castiel would consider they were each other’s true love and yet he didn’t mind taking Dean to a strip club?

But Castiel was watching a woman on a pole, and Dean tried to relax. They weren’t together, not like that, and Cas understood him better than he did himself most of the time. So surely he could enjoy the women dancing, and still enjoy his bond with Castiel?

“So, no birds or trees tonight?” Dean grinned. Castiel shook his head.

“You get a day off from that.”

“So more birds tomorrow?”

“I have a few more plans.”

Dean smiled, and leaned closer.

“Like what?”

Castiel just smiled mysteriously.

“Enjoy the nine ladies dancing, Dean.”


	10. Ten lords-a-leaping

Dean had no idea how Castiel was going to manage jumping guys. Ten of them. But he was excited to wake up in the morning and find out what Castiel had pulled.

He felt disappointed when all he found was a USB drive in the kitchen, with a small note in Castiel’s graceful cursive handwriting asking him to please watch without Sam. But he respected Castiel’s request and took the drive, and the note, into his bedroom. He plugged the USB into his laptop, and clicked on the video icon, plugging his headphones in as he did.

On the screen, Castiel was squinting at the screen, as though he wasn’t sure it was working correctly, before he began speaking in his usual gravelly voice. Dean had no idea where Castiel was meant to be filming the video.

“Hello, Dean. You’ve expressed distaste for real life versions of the items listed in the song that you by now know I’m emulating for you. I hope you enjoyed the strip club last night. Anyway,” he cleared his throat. “This is today’s offering.”

And then he started singing in a coarse baritone that made Dean smile. He took the song slowly, and seriously, and on the screen, the scene changed. There were now ten Castiel’s on the screen, dressed in an outdated style. Like a painting from the Romantic era. These Castiel’s were all jumping around as his voice swelled in Dean’s ears.

And then one Castiel jumped out of shot, and the others outfits transformed into flapper girls as they did the Charleston together. Dean burst out laughing at the enthusiasm of all these Castiel’s, while Castiel sang slowly in the background.

A flapper did a quick shuffle to the side of the screen as the other eight flapper Castiel’s sat down, immediately donning jeans, denim-and-leather shirts, and pigtails as they milked cows that had appeared … all with Castiel’s face on. Dean was howling with laughter.

One Castiel climbed onto a cow and rode it away, and the other Castiel’s were suddenly dressed like ballerinas, covered in feathers, gliding gracefully in front of the screen. Pirouetting and jeteing like they were in a version of Swan Lake.

One turned black and ran off, and the others turned grey, wincing as they began to lay eggs, and Dean wasn’t able to make any more sound with his laughter. The strain of laying an egg on Castiel’s face was, quite possibly, even funnier than Castiel dressed as a flapper girl.

The voice-over Castiel began singing about the fifth day of Christmas, and Dean tried to get his breath back, wondering how Castiel was going to emulate five inanimate rings. It was slightly less comical. One goose-Cas had rolled his egg away, and the other five began to ring like cellphones. They all opened differently, and each Castiel looked adorably confused as he picked up his egg phone. One of them connected, and that Castiel walked off screen, talking on the phone. The other four eggs fell apart, revealing four bird-Castiel’s, twittering along to Castiel singing about the four calling birds.

One Castiel flew away, and the others turned fatter, pecking around through their section. One strode off to the side, and Dean tried to calm down, as the other two turned into turtle doves. This time, one looked like Castiel, and the other like Dean, and they snuggled close together, Castiel’s bird spreading a wing around Dean’s bird. That wing became a branch, that cradled the Dean bird as the Castiel bird became a tree. Dean’s dove became the partridge, with coloured plumage and an elongated tail, cradled gently by Castiel’s pear tree. The video faded to black as Castiel’s singing tailed off.

Dean could see why Castiel didn’t want Sam to see it. The video was a little … out there. Castiel was such an oddball sometimes. But Dean wanted to see him in the flapper outfits again, so he put it back on play. It was his new favourite thing.


	11. Eleven pipers piping

Dean woke up singing the twelve days of Christmas. He had dreamed of Castiel’s voice singing all night. It was one of the best nights sleep of his life.

Sam watched as he walked into the kitchen, humming it to himself as he poured a coffee.

“What did Cas do for ten lords?” Sam wanted to know.

“Home movie,” Dean said over his shoulder. “He wanted me to keep it private.”

“Was that why I heard you laughing yesterday?” Sam wanted to know. Dean nodded, just as some music started up faintly. It sounded like a flute, or some other woodwind instrument.

“Did you leave your iPod on?”

“No. Why?”

More instruments joined in, a fairly sweet tune that Dean would never play in a million years.

“Can’t you hear it?”

“Hear what?”

“The flutes.”

It took Sam a moment of silently moving his lips, as the music grew louder.

“Eleven pipers piping?” Sam guessed. “But nope, I can’t hear them. Maybe it’s on ‘my true love’ setting.”

Dean gave him a filthy look, and left the room, trying to follow where they were coming from.

He walked through the bunker for ages. He kept thinking he was there, the music was getting louder, more instruments joining in. It was almost unbearably sweet. So sweet that it took all of Dean’s concentration, and he was somehow out of the bunker, walking up to Castiel and looking around at the new scene. Castiel was in his suit, but no trench coat. Dean looked down and realised he was in one of his fed suits.

“Eleven pipers piping?” Dean checked.

“Yes.” Castiel nodded behind Dean, and he turned to see eleven musicians on clarinets, flutes, recorders and panpipes. “I’m trying to think of other ways to match this song after you said not to take it literally.”

Dean gestured back to the pipers, who faded into nothingness. It was just the two of them.

“My inspiration today was the Pied Piper of Hamelin.”

“Wasn’t it just kids he lured away?” Dean checked.

“And rats, but that wasn’t my intentions. I was hoping that maybe we could, um, we could have dinner together?”

Castiel looked so hopeful. And it was Christmas. Dean nodded, and let him lead the way into the restaurant. He knew this was a date, but after all of Castiel’s efforts, it was a no brainer that he was going to say yes. Castiel had earned it.


	12. Twelve drummers drumming

Dean woke up with excitement pulsing through his entire body. If you had told him even twelve days before that he would be looking forward to Castiel’s gifts, he would have called you crazy. Of course, the only person who could have said it was Sam, and like Dean was ever going to admit anything like that to his brother.

He left his bedroom, and looked around for any sign of gifts, any birds or pear trees or dancing girls. The bunker was clear, of everything but Sam reading through a book in the main meeting room.

“Hey,” Sam greeted him. “How was piping with Cas?”

“Shut up.”

“Did you let him at your pipe?” Sam tried to fight his smirk, but failed miserably.

“At least people want it. When was the last time you got some, hey Sammy?”

The evening before had been pretty good, even if Dean struggled to admit it to himself. The restaurant was empty save for himself and Castiel, and the occasional wait staff who appeared whenever they needed a new drink or their meals. They had eaten huge bacon double cheeseburgers and drank beer and talked for ages. The burgers were tasty and juicy, the fries were crispy and just the right amount of salty, the beers were cool and refreshing. And Cas was … Cas. Naive and trusting. Missing half of Dean’s jokes. Fully invested in their time together.

Dean looked up the lyrics to the twelve days of Christmas, curious as to what he could expect. The twelfth day was twelve drummers drumming, and Dean wasn’t sure how Castiel was going to pull that one off. Sam seemed to be reading his mind.

“What’s Cas got planned for today? Because if it’s a marching band through the bunker, I’m going out.”

“I don’t know. He wants it to be a surprise. And since he stopped filling the place with birds, it’s been okay.”

“Best day?” Sam wanted to know. Dean took his turn to smirk. His real answer was the night before, but for Sam’s ears?

“Day nine. Strip club. Nine ladies dancing, some of them on my lap.”

Sam shook his head, and left the room, just as Castiel appeared.

“Hey Cas, happy Christmas Eve.”

“A merry yuletide to you too, Dean. Would you like your twelfth and final present?”

“Sure, Cas. What is it?”

Castiel held up two narrow strips of card. Concert tickets.

“I believe you’ll enjoy this band. We should get going soon to make it in time. Will you drive the Impala?”

They walked together to the garage, and Dean’s car, and Castiel removed the tape in the tape deck to switch it for Led Zeppelin. Dean allowed it, and cranked the music up as he pealed out of the garage.

 

*

 

They got to the venue with plenty of time, and joined the queue that was fairly short, but sure to grow in the next couple of hours. As they waited, they talked about anything that wasn’t Hunting, or Angelic duty.

They filed in with everyone else, and although Castiel wanted to head to the front of the hall, Dean pulled him towards the back.

“It’s more fun at the back. Closer to the bar, music sounds better, you can see shit. And we won’t get separated.” He explained. They watched as others filed in, crowding up the front of the hall, and Dean reached over to hold Castiel’s wrist. Just in case. “Who’re we seeing, anyway?”

“Led Zeppelin. It’s an experience, according to the advertisements.” Castiel answered primly. “I know they’re one of your favourite bands, and well, I’ve heard there’s nothing like a live show.”

Dean fixed a smile on his face. Castiel was adorable, but there was no chance this was Led. Still, a tribute band was the next best thing and at least Cas was trying to think of what he’d like. Dean wasn’t going to disillusion him with the truth.

The music finally started, and the room exploded into cheers and dancing, as Dean and Castiel remained at the back, Dean’s hand still wrapped around Castiel’s wrist as he drank in the atmosphere.

The tribute band was good. Nearly as good as the real thing. Castiel had delivered, and he even seemed to be enjoying the music himself.

They left the venue when the house lights went up, with a slight ringing in their ears. Castiel seemed puzzled as they approached the car.

“It’s strange. They sound a little different on your tapes.”

“Yeah, well, live is always different. And tapes can warp, and stuff. It was still good.”

“Yes, it was enjoyable.”

“Thanks for my twelve days of Christmas.”

“You’re welcome, Dean.”

“Hey, wait,” Dean held out a hand, catching Castiel before they separated to get into the Impala. Castiel watched as he licked his lips nervously, and stepped even closer. “Merry Christmas, Cas.”

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”

Dean leaned closer, and kissed his angel in the middle of the parking lot.


End file.
